By late August there has been a flurry of letters and the news from London is grim. Amy’s father-in-law, together with John Gates and Thomas Palmer, who rode out with the Duke to fight Mary’s forces, have all been executed for treason.
Northumberland had tried to plead for his life and even gave up his evangelical religion in an attempt to show his contrition. He worshipped in the Catholic fashion by attending mass and made a public declaration stating that he had been wrong in his beliefs. He also apologised for his role in the Duke of Somerset’s downfall and begged forgiveness of Somerset’s sons. Even to the end he’d hoped he would be reprieved especially when his execution was postponed for a day.
But Mary had delayed merely to emphasise the huge moral victory she had achieved; the message was that evangelicals were not so sure of their faith that they were prepared to die for it! The following day Northumberland, Gates and Palmer said mass in the chapel in the Tower and then were taken to Tower Hill to be executed. It was reported to us that Northumberland had then hinted darkly at another person who had been the leader of the plot to put Jane on the throne but the Duke refused to name him. Had he meant Gates, we wonder, or perhaps Suffolk himself? One thing is certain. We will never know; only that these three men took the punishment for many guilty people on the Privy Council.
A huge crowd numbering thousands had gathered for the executions apparently and the unpopular Northumberland had gone to the block first to the delight of them all. He had been beheaded with one stroke of the axe but Gates had not been so fortunate; it took three strokes to remove his head. By the time it was Palmer’s turn, the elderly man had skipped up the steps of the scaffold, confessed to his part in Somerset’s downfall and had stated, almost joyfully, his belief in the forgiveness of God and his willingness to die. He showed no fear despite the gory sight of the blood splattered executioner and the scaffold, already soaked with the blood of Northumberland and Gates, and his end was mercifully quick. Once the three executions had been carried out, the crowd had dispersed; the entertainment was over.
William Hyde reads the letter quietly and by the time he reaches the end, we are all too shocked to say a word. We sit and reflect, in our thoughts and our own private prayers, our concerns for the unfortunate young men who still await their fates. In truth Northumberland had been fortunate. A traitor’s death would have been far worse.
Eventually, after a long silence, William speaks. We are not to be downhearted for Robert, he says; the young man has courage and it’s a good sign that Mary has not yet executed other rebels. She seems to be showing compassion and leniency. And the Duke had pleaded for mercy for his sons before he died, Amy says hopefully. Also, she adds, John, the eldest brother, who’s been convicted of treason along with his father, has been spared execution – at least, so far.
We all agree. Queen Mary has achieved a major coup for her Catholic faith by persuading Northumberland to change his beliefs, giving him false hope that he would be pardoned. It has demonstrated very well how weak we evangelicals are in our faith. Perhaps she will be content with that.
Amy and I retire to the chapel to pray for Robert and his brothers. There’s no need to pray for the souls of those who have died; unlike the Catholics, we believe that simply dying in faith is sufficient to send us to heaven. We remember Jane in our prayers for, it is said that, while she has comfortable lodgings in the Tower, the guards now make fun of her. Poor, proud Jane, how she will feel the insults! We also remember Katherine, her sister.
Jane’s sister, Katherine, is only thirteen and was married at the same time as Jane at the magnificent triple wedding. To think that was just three months ago at Durham Place and how quickly everything has changed! Katherine, so unlike her sister, lively, full of fun and incredibly pretty, and her equally young husband were said to be very fond of each other but, last week in a letter from Mary Sidney, we discovered that they too have been touched by this tragedy.
Katherine’s father-in-law, the treacherous Pembroke who betrayed her whole family, has now lost no time arranging for a divorce for his son. The young couple are said to be heartbroken. Katherine is back with her parents, the recently pardoned Duke and Duchess of Suffolk.
“We’ll lose all our property and titles,” says Amy, “Since father-in-law was a convicted traitor.”
“Well Robert hasn’t been attainted yet,” I say, “So I don’t think we can jump to conclusions. Surely it’s only the Duchess of Northumberland who will lose the houses that her husband owned.”
“Robert hasn’t been tried for treason yet but he will be; I’m certain of it, Kate. What will we do? Where will we live? We will be as penniless as the poorest beggars. We can’t live on Mr Hyde’s charity forever.”
It’s a gloomy thought. To go home to Stanfield House will be our only course of action and one that I know Amy will be reluctant to take. Her half brothers and sisters were all older and, as the baby of the family, she was quite spoiled. Her father had been so proud of her when she and Robert were married at Sheen Palace in the presence of the King. How could she now go back, penniless and degraded to be shamed in front of them all? At night, safe in the privacy of her chamber, I hear her sobs.
Chapter Nine
London
The time passes and a weariness sets in. Amy never smiles and her face is lined with a worried frown. Then we receive letters from Mary Sidney which provide the faint glimmers of hope. It seems that Mary’s husband, Henry Sidney, and the former Duchess of Northumberland, her mother, are doing all they can to persuade Queen Mary to be lenient towards Robert and his brothers in the Tower. Sir Henry Sidney has sisters who are favourites of the Queen and this has allowed him to escape retribution despite his marriage to a Dudley girl.
Mary Sidney says that the Queen is more than willing to take advice from her cousin, Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, and his son, Prince Philip, of Spain. So it has been towards Spain that Henry Sidney has turned for help. And to Amy’s great joy the Spanish nobles are making representations to Queen Mary on our behalf.
Amy sits down immediately to reply; it will take her all afternoon to compose a letter and to choose the right words, words that do not imply any conspiracy or double meaning, words that cannot implicate her in any plotting and result in her own imprisonment. Letters can be intercepted by the vast network of spies who lie in every county; it pays to be careful.
In the past Robert had admired Elizabeth for her ability to use high flown phrases and biblical quotations in her attempts, usually successful, to cover up her true meaning or message of support to a scheming courtier. Amy had despised Elizabeth’s cunning but now she has to use similar tactics herself. She asks William Hyde to read the letter before she hands it to the courier. William suggests she scores lines through the spaces where there is no writing. In this way no incriminating sentences can be added.
Amy is now more optimistic and happier than she has been for ages. A week later eighteen yards of woollen cloth arrive from Norfolk, a gift from the estates of her father and, with winter coming, no present could have been so well received. Mrs Hyde, Mrs Picto, Amy and I, assisted by two of Mrs Hyde’s women get to work cutting out and sewing new shifts for the cold weather.
As September progresses the fruit in the garden and park has to be harvested and made into preserves. Mr Hyde encourages us to get out in the fresh air and help the servants and, although we haven’t done this since we were children in Norfolk, we find ourselves enjoying the harvest and the simple picnics outdoors. We borrow linen aprons and over gowns from the servants and fill baskets with plums, blackberries, quince and apples. Back inside the kitchen we turn them into the most heavenly preserves for winter delicacies and Amy, with her love of all things sweet, is in her own true kingdom.
“I have to taste this to make sure it’s just right,” she says, helping herself liberally to a piece of bread and quince jelly, while the servants laugh.
One day at the end of September, while we’re standing beneath an ap
ple tree holding our aprons to catch the apples thrown down by the servant boy, a rider on a sweating, foam-flecked horse comes up the drive. He has a letter for a ‘Lady Amy Dudley’. You can see his surprise and disbelief when he discovers that the woman standing before him, golden curls tied back under a simple linen bonnet, is the ‘Lady’ in question. Amy’s hand shakes as she takes the letter from him.
She scans the letter line by line and then goes back to the top to read it again. Finally her hands drop to her sides and she looks at me in disbelief.
“Is the news good ….. ?” My voice fades away.
“It’s good,” she says, breathlessly, “It’s very good. It’s from the Sidneys. Mary tells me that I can visit Robert in the Tower. The Spaniards at court have persuaded the Queen to allow all the Dudley wives to visit their husbands provided we obtain the Lieutenant’s permission before each visit.”
To the surprise of the messenger, we fling our arms around each other and dance around before running inside to tell everyone.
The next few days are spent running about trying to make preparations. The messenger is sent back to Mary Sidney with the usual carefully worded reply in case it’s intercepted. Amy’s learning something of Elizabeth’s guile as she invokes the Biblical story of Ruth and thanks ‘our most gracious sovereign Lady, Queen Mary, for her abundant kindness to her children, the people; just as Ruth cared for her kinswoman, Naomi, so does she show her love for each and every one of us,’ and so on in that same flattering (and in no way blameworthy) style. The letter also asks Mary Sidney if she can find us suitable lodgings in the city close to the Tower. William Hyde has already said that he will help us with a loan of money in that respect.
In the end we have no need of Mr Hyde’s generous offer. Although Mary has herself been attainted and stripped of any land or titles, her husband, Henry Sidney, has been allowed to keep his title and property and we’re invited to join them at their house in London and afterwards in Kent, where Henry and Mary live with Henry’s aging and infirm father at the magnificent castle called Penshurst Place.
The Sidneys are the only members of the family who are still very wealthy. Queen Mary seems to look favourably upon Henry Sidney and it would seem Henry’s sisters and the Spanish nobles are largely responsible for this.
A few days later Amy, Mrs Picto, James and I are back on the road to London once again. Amy’s only sadness is that she’s not been able to visit her dear father, Sir John, before winter as she’d planned. Now it will have to wait until the spring as the roads will soon be impassable when the bad November weather begins.
William Hyde has allowed us to have the use of a small cart to which James harnesses the mules. Our new clothing chests and Mrs Picto will travel in it and James will drive. Amy and I will ride alongside on our horses while Robert’s mare will remain with Mr and Mrs Hyde at Throcking. Amy and I put, in the larger of the two wooden chests, our two finest gowns, kirtles, French hoods, jewellery and velvet embroidered slippers together with the two gowns Mrs Hyde gave us and our new woollen shifts and stockings. Mrs Picto puts her second gown and shift into the small chest; with them she folds a woollen shirt and breeches for James who also has a new pair of leather shoes courtesy of the kind Mr Hyde.
Thanks to our industry during the past few weeks, we three women all wear new gowns and kirtles; it’s true that these are plainer than Amy and I have been accustomed to but this will help to protect us from thieves on the journey. We no longer look like wealthy people travelling to London.
Amy and I hug and kiss the kind people who have been our friends for the past two months and who have done so much for us. Then we’re lifted into the saddle by Mr Hyde’s servants. It’s the first time we’ve used our leather buskin boots and riding gloves since we arrived, ill and friendless, in July and we’re leaving with so much more than the few possessions we brought. At the last moment Mrs Hyde laughs and puts four earthenware jars of preserves into the cart, cider for the journey and a basket of apples.
“One jar of preserve for you and your family, Amy,” says Mrs Hyde, meaning for all four of us, “One for Mary and Henry and two for dearest Robert and the boys, if the Lieutenant will allow you to take food into the Tower. God speed.”
They watch our little train depart down the drive and, looking back, we see them wave goodbye and suddenly feel very sad to be leaving this peaceful place. What a contrast London will be. The little cart rumbles along the road and the weather is kind to us. Amy uses the money Mr Hyde has given her to pay for a night’s lodging at the little inn at Ware and how they stare when they perceive our changed circumstances from our homely dress! But our money is as good as ever! Amy and I collapse in fits of laughter when we’re in our chamber.
As we amble along the road the next day, Amy says, “I wonder what’s happened to the chests of fine clothes we left behind at Somerset House.”
“Shall we send James to make enquiries when we reach the city?” I ask. “It’s worth trying.”
“No,” replies Amy, shaking her head, “They’ll be at Hatfield by now. We all know what Elizabeth’s like. If ever we meet again, we’ll probably see her wearing them – or one of her gentlewomen! Of course they’ll have to let them out first.”
At that rather stinging, and of course completely untrue, insinuation about Elizabeth’s girth, we’re both racked with fits of laughter again, so much so that James and Mrs Picto turn round in puzzlement.
“Maybe we should take a deviation from our path and call at Hatfield House to ask if we can have our clothes back,” I remark. More laughter and Mrs Picto tut-tuts and shakes her head! But we all know that Elizabeth’s acquisitive nature is legendary. I can just imagine her face when she found two trunks of gorgeous gowns abandoned at Somerset House. She would not have taken any trouble to try to discover where their owner was, especially when she realised that they were Amy’s!
We’re able to travel for a full day with a break at an inn for dinner. Mrs Picto is happy in the little cart and we’re proceeding slowly and comfortably. Every little while we stop by a stream to give the horses and mules a drink and allow them a snatch of grass. It’s good to stretch our legs too and have cider from the large jug Mrs Picto guards, or an apple and a sweet cake. The sun is shining but every so often a cold gust of wind reminds us that autumn is here. Everywhere there are people working on the fields, hurrying to get in the harvest before the weather changes. Overhead wild geese and ducks are, like us, flying to their winter homes. It’s a pleasant landscape.
By evening we’re in London in the house that the Sidneys own. Mary and Henry are not at home but the servants are expecting us and welcome us inside - they regard our manner of dress with curiosity! After our progress through the countryside London seems dirty and the smell is overpowering but the Sidney’s house, like all large houses, is a haven away from the bustle of the city. We have to get used to the routine of life in the city again.
At the beginning of October Mary and Henry return to their London home. Lady Dudley, the tainted former Duchess of Northumberland, is with them and we are shocked by her appearance. Her face is lined and grey and her posture stooped and dispirited; she now looks like a very old lady. Amy and I greet her with a deep curtsey.
“So you are to visit Robert,” says Lady Dudley to Amy, “Anne, Elizabeth and Margaret have already visited their husbands.”
Amy looks down at the ground at this obvious reprimand and says nothing. Lady Dudley’s making sure that Amy knows she’s neglecting her wifely duties.
“That’s hardly fair, mother,” says Mary. “For one thing Amy doesn’t have her own private fortune as does Elizabeth Tailboys, Ambrose’s wife, and her kin do not own a large enough house in the city. She’s been forced to depend upon the charity of friends in Hertfordshire. Had she returned to her mother’s house she would have been even further away. She’s done as much as she could under the circumstances.”
“And I asked her to wait until I returned from Penshurst so tha
t I could escort her to the Tower,” says Henry.
Amy gives them both a grateful look and Lady Dudley gives a faint half smile, or was it a sneer! Amy is not her favourite daughter-in-law due to her lack of fortune and relatively lowly birth and she’d not been too pleased with Robert for making such a poor match. Inwardly I sigh; will the Dudleys ever cease to be ambitious? Even now with all the family either convicted of treason or awaiting trial, she cannot forget her towering ambition.
Before any more cutting remarks can be made the servants arrive to announce supper. Later we play cards by candlelight; the nights are drawing in now, reminding us that it will soon be cold enough to light a fire. Back in Amy’s bed chamber she complains about her mother-in-law.
“She’s always disliked me because Robert married me for love and not for fortune. And another thing, Elizabeth Lady Tailboys, Ambrose’s wife, has a lot of property of her own in Lincolnshire and Yorkshire and Henry’s wife, Margaret, is a rich heiress too. Even Anne, John’s wife, is a Seymour and has wealthy kin to help her.”
“Well try not to feel too angry, Amy,” I say, “And remember that they’ve all suffered misfortune too. Ambrose has Elizabeth now but he lost his first wife due to the sweating sickness little more than a year ago and his baby daughter too. Henry’s wife, Margaret Audley, will lose her huge fortune to the crown when Henry’s attainted and poor Anne Seymour, John’s wife, saw her father, Somerset, executed on trumped up charges due, in part, to her father-in-law, Northumberland! How must that have made her feel about the man she married?”
Amy nods. It’s a sobering thought that John Dudley, the eldest son, had seen his own father send his wife’s father to his death over a year ago. Northumberland had confessed from the scaffold to his part in the conviction of an innocent man, something he bitterly regretted in the face of death.
The Manner of Amy's Death Page 7